


Anything but death

by WriteLiar



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Depression, F/M, Family, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24914557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteLiar/pseuds/WriteLiar
Summary: No one lives forever, and even Nynaeve cannot Heal death
Relationships: Nynaeve al'Meara/Lan Mandragoran
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Anything but death

Elnore stood staring at the heavy door in front of her. Whirls and scrolls decorated its surface; some were small, delicate wisps, and some were deep dramatic curves. She let one hand trail down the carving, fingertips barely brushing the polished wood. As a little girl, she would often trace this door when she was bored, waiting for her parents. The great serpent ring on her finger looked odd performing a pattern from childhood.

She was stalling and she knew it. She would give anything to not be the one who had to do this. Her stomach twisted tighter in the knot it had been in for the last few days. Light, this was going to be hard.

Steeling herself, she opened the door and entered.

El’Nynaeve ti al’Meara Mandragoran did not look like the woman Elnore was used to seeing. Her mother was always put-together - long hair neatly braided every day, brushed out, then braided freshly every night. The _ki’sain_ on her forehead was never smudged. Growing up, Elnore had loved her mother’s dresses, so much that she sometimes would sneak into dress-up in one and look at herself in the long standing mirror. Nynaeve had admonished Elnore the young woman for thinking too much about clothes, but her daughter had grown to realize that her mother was actually quite fashionable. And, of course, she was beautiful. Everyone knew that. Elnore had heard even people who disliked her mother admit as much.

Nynaeve lay propped up in bed, pale and gaunt. Her hair was barely holding onto its braid, dark tendrils spilling out over her shoulders and on the pillows. _Ki’sain_ was gone, though red faintly stained where it had been, like a shadow. One of her maids, Mira, had gotten her out of her dress a few days ago, leaving her shift, but Nynaeve had not let anyone else help her since then. Elnore had never seen her look so ill. She was awake, eyes set forward, but Elnore did not think she was seeing what was out the window before her. Lips were pressed together in a thin line. She would never not be beautiful, though.

“Hello Mother,”

Nynaeve did not look at her. She may have flinched, but it could also have been a trick of the light. Light, what could she do? Maric and Akir had tried to comfort her and only got their hands patted soothingly. Sharina tried to rouse her by making her angry – it was not difficult for her – but she did not even get a glare. Even Queen Elayne came to see if she could help. She and mother were best friends for decades – she had been “Aunt Elayne” when Elnore was a child. Elayne said that Nynaeve had talked to her, but the queen had been crying, so Maric had not asked what it was their mother had said.

“I see you’re pleased to see me.” Elnore winced before the words finished leaving her mouth. Letting her grief come out as anger would not help anyone.

She walked to the bed briskly, smoothing her pale blue silk skirts as she settled on the blankets. “I… I would have been here sooner, but I couldn’t get away. Maigan…” No, she could not talk about Blue Ajah business, even with her mother. She shook her head. “I should have come sooner. I shouldn’t have let that get in the way. I’m sorry, Mother.”

No response. “You’ve sent Mira and Nyla in a tizzy over you not eating. Mira is about to wring her hands off and Nyla seems to be trying to eat enough for the both of you,” She made her voice light.

No response. “Aren’t you glad Queen Elayne came to see you? She went back to Caemlyn to take care of some things, but she’ll be back this evening. I’m surprised that she didn’t take you down to the Spring Garden; you two used to always sit there, talking for hours.”

No Response. Elnore pursed her lips. She felt emotion build in her, though she couldn’t put a finger on what that emotion was. “I don’t know if they have told you anything about the funeral arrangements. Sharina and Maric are taking care of everything - with Akir helping, of course. Many people are talking about scattering his ashes at Tarwin’s Gap, but we really need you to decide.”

Nynaeve’s eyes tightened. Elnore waited, hopefully. The clock on the mantel softly ticked.

_Tick, tick, tick…_

Her mother said nothing.

The emotion that bubbled up was anger, making her grit her teeth. “Do you know where they found me to tell me? I was in a meeting with ten other bloody Aes Sedai and that… thick-headed Accepted didn’t even think to ask that I step outside, she was so shocked. She just said it in front of everyone, like it was their business as much as mine.” And they had certainly acted like it was their business. They had the nerve to talk about the death of a king when she had just learned about the death of her father. “So, I had to excuse myself nicely and walk through half the Tower before I could even get to my room to cry.” She was proud she was not crying now.

Elnore squeezed her eyes shut. This was exactly what she did not want to do – she could not lash out just because she was hurt. Certainly not at her mother, who she knew was already in so much pain. Elnore released the bedsheets that she did not realize she had clenched.

She sighed. “It doesn’t matter –” Suddenly, she heard a whisper coming from Nynaeve. “What?”

“I’m sorry…” Hearing her voice come weakly was odd.

“No, Mother,” Elnore clasped Nynaeve’s hand. “That wasn’t your fault. I’m just upset and tired and -”

“I’m sorry…” She said again. Her mother hated apologizing – she certainly never took blame when it was not hers to take.

“… Is this about Father? You mustn’t start blaming yourself. ‘Anything but death,’ remember? That’s what you always –”

Nynaeve turned her head to her daughter, dark eyes looking hard at her. “I am sorry that you can channel, Elnore.”

Elnore blinked. That was unexpected. Elnore had technically been a Wilder – the ability to channel inborn. Her “trick” was eavesdropping with the Power, but Sharina had caught her before Elnore had even realized what she was doing. Nynaeve and Sharina were holed up in a room for most of the day, arguing – screaming, at times – about it all. From what she had gathered, her mother did not think she was old enough to go to the Tower. That could only have been part of it, since Elnore had met many Novices younger than seventeen. Whatever the argument had been about, Nynaeve emerged only to argue some more alone with Lan. The next day, she painted a blue _ki’sain_ on Elnore’s forehead, marking her a grown woman, and she was in Novice white by the end of the week.

“Why would you be sorry?” She asked, confused. “You are one of the people who can actually understand how amazing _saidar_ is! We get to feel that and we get to help people with it – what more could I ask for?”

The tightness in Nynaeve’s eyes returned. “I’m sorry…” She murmured. Dark eyes drifted back to gazing past Elnore, out the window.

“No, Mother, stay here with me,” Elnore pleaded.

No response.

She clenched Nynaeve’s hand like she had clenched the bedsheets. “You can’t just stay in bed!” She said through gritted teeth. “The funeral is tonight and you have to be there. Everyone needs to see us be strong – _you_ be strong. They need you, Mother! You’re as much a symbol of Malkier as father was – still is! Without your stubbornness, there would be no Malkier now,” Let alone the rest of the world.

Something changed in Nynaeve’s face.

Elnore looked down at her mother’s limp hand. It was the hand with her great serpent ring. She twisted it back and forth on Nynaeve’s finger, catching the light as she spoke. “You never stay in bed!” She said fiercely. “You never stay down, even when you should. You won’t let people say that you are brave, but you have gone into the Blight, fought in Tel’aran’rhiod, defeated Forsaken, battled shadowspawn, gone to Shayol Ghul, pursued healing that others thought was foolish, and all because of your love for people. And not only if they were _your_ people, but because they _were_ people.”

Elnore felt tears slide down her cheeks. “That’s one of the reasons why I love you so much,” She pressed her cheek against her mother’s hand. The gold ring felt cool against her suddenly hot skin. “I’m really not so brave. Please… I need you, Mama”

The clock on the mantel kept ticking.

Suddenly, there was humming. It was a wordless lullaby that her mother used to hum to her when she was little. When she was lying in bed, in her own room, with her ragdoll held in the crook of her arm, and the smells of lemon and herbs from her mother. A hand began stroking her hair soothingly, coaxing the tears to continue to fall. After several long minutes, the hand stopped and Elnore lifted her head to look into Nynaeve’s troubled eyes. “Your brothers won’t cry.” It was a statement, but almost sounded confused; maybe concerned as well.

A sob and a startled laugh together nearly choked Elnore. “Yes, well, they’re just wool-headed, hairy-chested men who don’t know when they should cry,” Nynaeve did not smile, but there was definitely softening in her eyes.

Elnore took a few deep breaths to collect herself. Still grasping the older woman’s hand, she met her eyes again, levelly. “Now, I am going to tell Mira and Nyla to draw you a bath and to get Rhyonin and we are going to get dressed.”

Nynaeves’ maids were ecstatic at the news that their lady was willing to be dressed and fed. Well, the food took a little more convincing, but Rhyonin soon had two slices of buttered bread and a little stew into her with some coaxing and warnings that she would end up fainting in front of everyone if she did not eat. Elnore had been confident that the other woman would be a big help after she herself had cleared the path, so to speak. Maric had married Rhyonin shortly after Elnore left for the Tower. The gaining of a daughter-in-law had eased the loss of a daughter, though her mother would never admit it in those words. The lanky Kandori woman was even-tempered but not easily dissuaded when she had picked a course. She got along well with Nynaeve, that way.

Elnore and Rhyonin’s maids soon joined in the fray, bringing in the ladies’ dresses, and before long there was a flurry of hushed voices and skirts rustlings. Each of the maids wore their normal livery, plus a long white handkerchief wrapped around their upper arms. They scurried back and forth across the Queen’s dressing room; drawing Nynaeve’s bath, fetching stockings and shoes, and preparing supplies to do their ladies’ hair.

Nyla finished brushing Nynaeve’s hair and began a simple braid. “No.” The young woman stopped, confused. “Cut it off.” Nynaeve said, so softly, Elnore could barely hear. “M-my lady?” Nyla spluttered. The situation needed to be handled swiftly to save the poor child. Elnore placed a firm, but reassuring hand on Nyla’s shoulder.

“Let me,” the small pair of scissors in the vanity drawer would do. Elnore grasped the first lock and began to cut. Though this brought tears back to her eyes, she understood that her mother needed this. The _snip, snip, snip_ was the only sound in the room.

“Elnore,” Nynaeve’s uncharacteristically weak voice startled her.

“Yes?”

“Your father was so proud of you when you were raised young.”

 _But not you?_ Elnore shoved down that first thought. She smiled at her mother in the mirror and snipped off the last lock. “Thank you, Mama.”

Afternoon became evening and the shadows of lords and ladies preparing the funeral pyre stretched across the courtyard. It was not only the nobility of Malkier that gathered there. The king of Saldaea placed a heavy log and the queen set tinder atop it. The queen of Andor and the queen of Ghealdan bent to prop kindling along the base of the pyre. Every ruler of the Borderlands solemnly added to the woodpile. Even the rulers of the Southlands carried fuel, paying their respects to a great hero.

Elnore looked at her mother from the corner of her eye and frowned as they made their way down to the courtyard. She was dressed in pure white, from her slippers to the new _ki’sain_ on her forehead. An Aes Sedai was not supposed to ever put on full mourning. Her own gown was a pale blue with white trim and white ribbons tied in her dark hair. Well, Nynaeve had never been very connected to the Tower, and certainly would never follow any custom she deemed foolish.

They stepped out into the wide courtyard. A hundred pairs of eyes were on them in a moment. Maric hurried up to let their mother take his arm and escort her into the throng. Royalty parted before them, nodding respectfully as she passed.

From the other end of the courtyard, an Ogier entered, baring a shape wrapped in a shroud. Elnore’s father. Loial son of Arent son of Halan approached and, with utter reverence, gently placed the body on the pyre. His large eyes were red and tufted ears drooped so that they nearly pointed to the ground. The golden crane embroidered onto the shroud glittered in the last rays of sunlight before dark.

Halfway to the pyre, Nynaeve disengaged from her son and walked the rest of the way alone. Her stride was slow but remarkably steady. People gathered around in a circle, shoulder to shoulder, keeping a respectful distance that left Nynaeve at their center.

Breathes passed. Not even the sound of shuffling feet broke the silence.

Finally, Loial took a lit torch from King Aito of Shienar and offered it to Nynaeve. When she reached out to take it, Loial raised a comforting hand, large enough that it engulfed her shoulder. Slowly she shifted her hard gaze from the pyre to the Ogier. They stood there like that for several long moments. Something important passed between them, though not a word was spoken. Loial bowed his head and joined the other onlookers, leaving Nynaeve alone once again.

She lowered the torch to the pyre and it caught easily.

The growing flames seemed to ease some of the tension in the air and the guests began to mill about, speaking in hushed tones. It would take time for the body to catch and burn. No one approached Nynaeve.

“Thank you,” Elnore nearly jumped. Akir could be very quiet when he wanted to, which was not often. “I did not do much, actually.” She said. “She always does what’s needed of her; it’s part of her nature.” A breeze licked at the flames encouraging their growth. Nynaeve’s hair, barely touching her shoulders now, fluttered. Elayne had joined her, but neither seemed to speak.

Akir shook his head. “When I saw her lying there, I wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t be next after him.” He shuddered. “Perhaps, Father had been part of her nature for so long, she had forgotten.”

Maric came to hug his sister. “Thank you, Elnore. I don’t know what we would do without you.”

Elnore forced a smile. “You and Rhyonin do very well without me and will continue to.” Her place was not in Malkier, at least for now.

“Still,” He said, “We all appreciate your help with Mother. I hope you can stay.”

“For a few days, I will.” She said, patting his arm and turning back to the pyre. When had Nynaeve sat? She was cross-legged on the soft grass. Surprisingly, Elayne had joined her, sitting at her side with spring-green skirts spread around her.

“What can we do for her?” Rhyonin was close to Elnore and spoke so only she could hear. “I know that there are… effects when an Aes Sedai loses a Warder. But I do not need to be part of the Tower to know that this is different.”

“Aes Sedai are not usually married to their Warders and there are reasons for that.” Elnore hesitated. As a girl, she was quite the romantic, but the Tower often had a way of beating that out of a person. In an even softer voice, she added, “I think they were as in love as the songs say.”

Her parents tried to keep ballads of the Last Battle out of the palace, but repressed tales only spread all the faster for it.

Instead of scoffing, Rhyonin only nodded thoughtfully. Well, she had lived with them in the palace for twenty years now, after all. Akir was a few paces off, speaking softly to his wife who seemed distressed. Claria and he had been married a few years, but they lived in a holding several days from The Seven Towers. Elnore had not seen them since their wedding.

The crowd parting drew Elnore’s attention back to the center of the courtyard. A woman glided through the throng toward the pyre and entered the invisible ring where only Elayne and Nynaeve sat. She wore a dark cloak, closed, but with the hood set back enough to see her ageless face. Single strands of white threaded through her curls like stars twinkling in a night sky.

Moiraine.

Without pausing or acknowledging the nods of the nobility around her, she moved around the pyre to Nynaeve. She simply adjusted her skirts and joined Nynaeve on the ground. Growing up, Elnore had seen Aunt Moiraine as so dignified, it felt odd to see her cross-legged in the grass.

After a few long moments, Nynaeve gripped Moiraine’s arm. The older woman leaned over to hear Nynaeve whisper to her. Whatever it was, Moiraine pulled back, nodding. Suddenly, the flames of the pyre burst anew, hotter than ever. The glow of _saidar_ surrounding Moiraine continued as she fed the fire.

Dusk turned into night. Soon, the moon, stars, and dying embers of the fire provided the only light. Moiraine and Elayne inspected the ashes, then started to dashing water onto them to douse the embers. Servants went around lighting torches to make up for the dying light.

Where the body of al’Lan Mandragoran was, now only ash lay.

When Elayne and Moiraine finished, Sharina stepped forward and embraced the Source, but Nynaeve stopped her with a raised hand. At this point, the Aes Sedai advisor was supposed to open a Gateway and scatter his ashes through it, down into Tarwin’s Gap. That was where Lan had begun the Last Battle, and where he was Dai Shan.

Instead, Nynaeve embraced _saidar_ , sending weaves of Air whisking around the ashes and lifting them up in a contained whirlwind. She split the flows and opened a Gateway of her own. Instead of rocky Tarwin’s Gap, it opened to reveal rolling green hills surrounding a wild garden. The purple blossoms of weeping willows swayed over delicate white morningstars. Carpets of yellowbell, pink wildrose, and lavender were spread over the land like the patches of a gleeman’s cloak. Deep red roses twisted and climbed around a mighty oak tree in the middle of the garden. Elnore recognized it from family picnics as a child. It was said to be where the Green Man had guarded the Eye of the World for centuries, until the Dragon was reborn and claimed the Eye. Lit only by moon-glow, it did look like something out of legend.

The whirlwind of ashes went through first, followed by Nynaeve, gliding so gracefully that she could be a ghost, not even touching the floor. Once she was on the other side, she looked over her shoulder at the onlookers. The last thing they saw as the Gateway closed was Nynaeve kneeling to sit on the velvety moss.

The throng mingled again, no one ready to depart yet. Moiraine approach Elnore and her brothers. “Leave her, for tonight.” She said. “She needs to be alone in a safe place.” Akir’s eyebrows drew down and would have spoken, but Moiraine stopped him with a look. “I will go to her tomorrow, but Nynaeve is not a woman who will accept coddling or pity.” 

Nynaeve wove more flows of Air to catch up the ashes from the whirlwind and send them on the wind, scattered over the wild garden. She sat down on the ground with a grunt. Reaching into her dress, she pulled out Lan’s ring. She pulled the leather string it was held on up over her head. Lan had given it to her so many years ago, trying to do anything he could to protect her. His words pushed her away while his actions tied them together. How many times had she used this ring to remind herself of him, while in the Tower, hunting the Black Ajah in Tanchico, hiding in the menagerie, waiting in Salidar, then search for the Bowl in Ebou Dar? And then he had come to her. It was like he had fulfilled the promise that he had made by giving her the ring; that he would always come to her – be hers. He had never asked for it back, even when he was crowned and would have use for a signet ring. His promise still stood.

She traced the etched crane with a fingernail. She could feel herself starting to tremble uncontrollably.

“Oh, My Love,” She said before sobs could steal her breath.

“What do I do now?”

The morning after the funeral, Moiraine Traveled to bring Nynaeve back to the palace. She and Nynaeve ate breakfast separately from the rest of the family, although Nynaeve still did more picking than eating.

By midmorning, all of the family relaxed together in a large sitting room. Elnore praised her oldest niece’s needlepoint and discussed her oldest nephew’s new favorite book with him. Maric and Akir talk about their father, keeping with the Borderlander tradition of lauding the dead. Their wives listened over cups of tea, throwing in a memory of their own every once in a while. Two of the younger children were trying to explain a card game to a third, but Caerlyn was only six. The youngest, Nadir, seemed bored by the small spurts of attention his mother was giving him. Nynaeve sat quietly. It was impossible to tell if she was listening to her sons or lost in her own thoughts. Moiraine stood by the window, looking out over the city, but close by Nynaeve’s chair.

“Grandma?”

Nynaeve started. Looking down, she saw there were two big, brown eyes staring up at her. Nadir’s round face favored his mother more than his father.

“Grandma, will you tell _me_ a story?” He begged.

The adults had not yet noticed Nadir’s newest distraction. The children had been told that their grandmother was ill from being so sad and not to upset her.

Moiraine smiled, still looking out the window. Nynaeve could not smile, but she gently brushed fingertips down Nadir’s cheek.

“Yes,” Caerlyn piped in, rushing over to Nynaeve’s side. “Grandda told the best stories, but he’s not here now. Do you know any of his stories?”

Claria gasped. “Caerlyn, Nadir!” She rose as if to pull her children away, but Moiraine raised a hand to stop her. “They are alright, Claria, let them be with their grandmother.”

Everyone was quiet now, watching. Nynaeve paused in the middle of smoothing back Caerlyn’s hair. Finally, she nodded and helped Nadir scramble onto her lap.

All of the children gathered around. Gainen, almost too old to still be called a child, set down his book and sat with his back against the wall closest to the chair. Adelle sat on the floor before Nynaeve, needlework still in hand. Talric and Jarril draped themselves over the back of the chair and Caerlyn propped her chin on the chair arm. The room became still.

Nynaeve took a long breath.

“There is a place far, far away – a little village called “Emond’s Field.” It was a quiet place but everyone was happy. They were farmers and thatchers and blacksmiths and they were proud of the one inn the village had. They baked pies and drank cider and danced on Bel Tine. But adventure could not leave this village to be simple and small. One day, the day before Bel Tine, your grandda and Moiraine came to Emond’s Field - ”

“Grandda and Aunt Moiraine?” Caerlyn said, incredulously. The other children hushed her.

“Yes.” Nynaeve said. “They came because we had four very special people in the village; we had no idea how special. The Pattern had decided to weave around them and we would have no say about it,” She paused. “The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills.”

Moiraine smiled.

“They were going to take these young people on a… long… incredible adventure. They were Egwene al’Vere, Matrim Cauthon, Perrin Aybara, and Rand al’Thor.”

Jarril looked suddenly disappointed. “Is this the story of the Dragon Reborn?”

“No.” Nynaeve’s single word cut the air. “No,” She forced her voice to soften. Her fingers ran through Nadir’s hair.

“It wasn’t about him anyway…”


End file.
